Funky's Hilarious Time (In Prison)
by nunwithachainsaw
Summary: Funky Kong discovers the true power of friendship when a dangerous plot to smuggle hashish goes awry. Rated M for language and violence.
1. CRANKY

**CHAPTER 1: CRANKY**

Funky Kong was a giant badass who always liked to blast his tunes at a very high volume, even if Wrinkly Kong was trying to sleep off her hangover.

"Dude, niss!" cried Funky with the swagger of a youthful chimp as Cranky unrolled a bamboo scroll of hashish across his kitchen table.

"This my shit right here," said Cranky all ampedly, taking a long puff on his blunt. Funky knew hash was bad news, and that Cranky was totally the wrong kind of ape to get mixed up with, but he needed some cash right now. He'd have to feign interest in the smuggling plan for a while.

"It's gonna be real easy, know what I'm sayin'?" Cranky muttered, and blew a ring of weed smoke that landed weightlessly around Funky's muzzle. "You just take the shit and strap it under your bandanna. You be lookin' all tough and shit, so ain't nobody gonna give you no trouble when you be gettin' on that plane. Just get in, get out, get the kremcoins. Know what I sayin'?"

"Yeah, but what happens if someone catches me?" Funky asked, scratching his groin a little.

"Shit," Cranky said. He bared his teeth and began to hiss as he realized that Funky was doubting the exceptional craft and ingenuity of his plan. "Ain't gonna be like that, you little bitch! Fuck, man. C'moan. It's gonna be _easy. _I toldjo stupid ass that already."

"Well, I guess it sounds okay," Funky said doubtfully. He plucked a crooked joint from the old man pocket on the breast of Cranky's shirt and popped it between his enormous ape lips. "Got a light?"

Cranky snapped open his lighter as if he didn't have arthritis at all.

"Righ here, old son, righ here," the elderly ape said, lighting the end of the joint. Funky inhaled and blew a ring of smoke in Cranky's face. And that was when he knew he was going to smuggle the hash.


	2. REVENGE OF CRANKY

**CHAPTER 2: REVENGE OF CRANKY**

Outside the hut, Funky walked around until he saw Squitter.

"Sup, dude?" Funky called out to the giant, dangerous spider.

"Oh, not too much, you know. Just thinking about my gun collection," Squitter replied casually, hopping down from a tree branch. Funky recoiled in automatic horror, but soon felt at ease.

"Hey, Cranky got me in on this... uh, plan," Funky mumbled, subconsciously hoping Squitter would talk him out of the plan to deliver the payload of hashish to the Kremlings. He knew in the back of his mind that Donkey and Diddy, and even that rebellious bastard Kiddy Kong, would never approve of a plan to smuggle drugs just to make a few measly Kremcoins.

"Oh lord!" Squitter shrieked, his eight spider man boobs flopping all over the jungle floor. "I smuggle hash all the time. Just keeps getting easier."

"Easier?!" shrieked Funky, feeling sweat roll down the crack of his distended anus. "But how do you avoid getting caught?"

"I got eight legs, man," Squitter said, laughing. He took a sizable bite out of the struggling human orphan he'd been dragging behind him in a web cocoon the whole time. Blood spurted out as the little boy screamed. "Just duct tape the hash around yourself and wear a big sweater. They never search you good enough to find it."

"Dude, I don't know about this," Funky admitted as he brushed away the flailing, desperate hand of the orphan Squitter was snacking on. "This just seems like a bad idea."

He could just see what Diddy and Dixie would say; Diddy would probably give him that wise, disapproving head shake he always seemed to have reserved for the disastrous results of Funky's capers. And Dixie, sweet Dixie! The girl probably didn't even know what hash was.

"I'm telling you, man, it's a great idea. I'll even go with you. We'll both smuggle the hash, we'll smoke some of it when we get there, and it's aaaaawll gonna be goooood, son," Squitter said.

"Well, I guess it'll be okay..." Funky muttered nervously. "Don't worry - you got this by the ass," Squitter chuckled merrily, jamming the end of one leg into the orphan's mouth to prevent him from shouting as one of his legs was ripped off.

"Hey, have you seen Dixie around anywhere?" Funky asked. "She said she wasn't feeling well, and I—"

"Yeah, I saw her swinging into the monkey STD clinic," Squitter said. "Bitch probably got chlamydia. I didn't give her that shit, though. Even though I got it."

"You got chlamydia?" Funky asked. The two looked at each for nearly five seconds before the tense silence was eventually broken by an angry tirade in Spanish from the orphan, who seemed finally to have chewed through his banana leaf gag.

"Yeah, so what?" Squitter demanded. "Everyone got chlamydia."

"Uh, right, cool," Funky mumbled, hoping to find a good opportunity to escape from the conversation. "Listen, I'm gonna go and work on my synthesizer for a while. Gotta make them phat beats to chill to while I eat bananas and smoke hash, you know."

Suddenly, zingers attacked.

"FUUUUUUUUUCK!" screamed Funky gleefully, gritting his teeth and firing his twin peanut blasters that he traded Diddy some pogs and a slammer for. The peanuts hit the bees and they buzzed nissly.


	3. THE PLANE

**CHAPTER 3: THE PLANE**

They arrived at Funky's airport together, Funky in front and Squitter trotting along behind him. The colossal arachnid was nibbling on a starfish. Unfortunately, Funky and Squitter were two poor animals due to the fact that they couldn't get jobs (being animals and all), and between them they couldn't even scrounge up the measly two Kremcoins that Funky Kong required as payment before he would let anybody ride in his plane—including himself.

"Sorry, guys," Funky said to Squitter and himself.

"What, seriously nigga?" Squitter asked, and threw the starfish backward over his shoulder. It bounced down the face of the cliff, picking up speed and debris, and eventually smashed through the roof of Cranky Kong's hut and latched on to the elderly ape's back.

"Get off, get off!" Cranky cried, rising unsteadily to his feet and waving his cane through the air. "You've no right!"

But the starfish couldn't talk.

Back at the airport, Squitter was slapping Funky Kong around a little until he agreed to go play a level where he could quickly find 2 Kremkoins. "All right, all right," Funky said. Squitter's hairy maw spread in a devilishly slow grin. Funky climbed down the mountain and started playing one of the island's many naturally-occurring video game levels. Once he had fetched the 2 Kremkoins they needed, he climbed back up the cliff and put them into his wallet.

"Thank you," he said. "You may board when ready. Oh, and by the way. If I, the security officer for this flight, catch anyone smuggling hashish today, the punishment is fifty fucking years in foreign prison. Have a nice flight, guys!"

The pair of animals climbed nervously into the plane with Cranky's brick of hashish. The atmosphere was tense; they were both terrified that Funky was going to smell it and notice that they were trying to smuggle drugs. Squitter was afraid of how hellish foreign prison was going to be when Funky caught them, and Funky was freaked out by the fact that he was looking at himself and Squitter so suspiciously. _Just play it kool, dude... nothin' but a pair of kool animals, riding to Kremland... no need to give us a pat down or even a second look, bandanna guy... say... am I seeing things, or does that guy's bandanna have a funny bulge near the back?_

_Oh no, _Funky thought desperately, _I'm about to catch us!_

"Take off that bandanna!" Funky yelled.

"**Dick**," Squitter cried. He dove out of the plane and into the ocean below. Funky leaned over the side and watched the spider fall until he was gone from sight.

"This is _hash_!" Funky cried, fondling the strange bulge in the bandanna. Then he roared and began bravely wrestling the controls away from himself. When he was back in control of the plane, he said, "Looks like this is the end of the line for me, bub. You know what I give people for smuggling hash? Fifty fucking years in foreign prison. That's right, mother fucker. Ha, ha! By this time tomorrow, I'll be rotting in the darkest hole there ever was. I better believe it."

Funky grimly turned the plane to the east and began flying in the direction of the Kremling prison.


	4. REVENGE OF CRANKY 2: CRANKY'S REDEMPTION

**CHAPTER 4: REVENGE OF CRANKY, VOLUME 2: CRANKY'S REDEMPTION**

When Funky got to the prison, he seriously needed to poop. It felt like the intake process was in-taking forever. They wanted fingerprints of all his monkey digits, blood and urine samples, x-rays to check for any drugs he may have swallowed or stuffed up his anus, and even for him to kiss a lady officer. The lady officer had Asperger's Syndrome, which meant that she was very awkward, but extremely good at one weird thing. Here was the lady officer's hidden talent: if she kissed someone, she could instantly tell everything about them, including their height, weight, name, date of birth, and hair color.

Would Funky _ever _get to poop?

They dressed him in a cute little orange jumpsuit tailored to fit an ape's hunched physique and then led him through a maze of hallways, each more drab than the last. Eventually they reached the gen-pop cafeteria, where dozens of inmates were standing around, playing cards, fighting, or having a snack.

"Would you like to meet some of the other guys?" asked the female officer that had kissed Funky earlier.

"I'd really just like to go poop, ma'am, " Funky admitted sheepishly.

"_Ooohh_, don't be _shyyy_," the officer said with a jolly smile. She led him toward a group of tough looking bald headed Mexican dudes with poorly-done tattoos all over their faces and necks. One of the Mexicans looked over his shoulder at Funky, chuckled, and motioned for his friend to look.

"¿Sup, esé?" the Mexican demanded confrontationally.

"Nawmuchdooooood," Funky muttered, swaying vaguely from side to side and never quite making eye contact with anyone.

"You guys should get along just fine," the Aspergian female officer told the group, briefly rubbing the Mexican thug's gleaming head and kissing him on the cheek. She immediately found out that he was 5'6", 185 pounds, named Corduroy Campos del Toro, twenty-three years old, and bald. Corduroy's friends all laughed mockingly, leaning away and lifting their arms to their faces and hooting.

"Ayo, Corduroy _like _like dat girl!" someone cried, and the hooting and laughing got louder.

"A'ight guys, that's enough," Corduroy said, trying to play it off like he didn't even like her that much. He was blushing ferociously.

"Aye mane, where dat baffroom at?" Funky asked.

"Yo, juss inside dat door? On the leff over deh?" Corduroy answered, pointing.

Funky lumbered over to the bathroom and went inside. He selected a stall, went inside, and lowered his pants.

_Finally, _he thought, _I get to poop._

After Funky was finished pooping, he wiped, flushed the toilet, sighed with relief, and went out to wash his hands. It was then that he heard a small sound coming from the stall connected to the one he'd just used. He cupped one huge simian hand to his ear and leaned forward.

"Hey... are you alright in there, dude?" Funky asked.

Someone was whimpering inside the stall.

"Is everything okay? Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No! Go away!"

Funky Kong gasped. Could it really be?

"C-Corduroy...? Is that you?"

"Just leave me a_lone_!" Corduroy screamed.

"It's alright, man, " Funky assured him, crawling under the stall door and climbing on to the toilet beside Corduroy. The Mexican gangster was holding his head in his hands and sobbing.

"Dey all _laughed_ at me!" he shouted. His face was streaked with tears. Funky put his arms around the muscular thug and held him close.

"It's alright, Corduroy. They don't know _anything _about who you are inside."

"It juss... p-pisses me off, mane! I don't even _like_ tha girl like that, you know? We juss friens. She ain't my fuckin' _girl_frien, mane!"

"It's okay," Funky said softly. "It's alright now. They didn't mean it."

"Yes dey _did_!" Corduroy shrieked. "Dey always do diss erry time! I doan even know if those guys are really my _friens_, mane!"

"I'm sorry you're having such a tough time in prison," Funky said.

"At lease I gah my best friend wit me," Corduroy told him, looking into his simian eyes.

After that, Funky and Corduroy were best friends.


	5. THE ESCAPE

**CHAPTER 5: THE ESCAPE**

Pretty soon it was time for dinner, so all the inmates stopped playing their 3DSes and went to the cafeteria. Corduroy and Funky Kong were sitting at a table cutting snowflakes out of construction paper when they were joined by Dragon, Psycho Jimmy, Big D, and Spiders. Spiders had gotten his name because he had once eaten a spider on a double dog dare.

"Whatchu guys wan for deener?" Psycho Jimmy asked, holding a knife up to Funky Kong's throat.

"I could kind of go for some bananas," Funky said.

"Ey!" Psycho Jimmy yelled, pressing the knife a little harder into Funky's skin. "Bring us some bananas, bitch!"

The female officer with Asperger's Syndrome brought over a tray of bananas for the hungry boys and kissed Corduroy on the top of his head. Funky braced for the explosion of fury he assumed was coming, but Corduroy just smiled at him, winked, and went back to cutting his snowflake. He and Funky had talked for a long time before dinner about ways to manage their anger.

After dinner, the lady officer came back and told Funky Kong that his sentence was over.

"But it's only been like four hours since I got to prison!" he cried.

"Well," the lady officer told him, smiling, "I guess time flies when you're having fun!"

"But it couldn't have been _fifty_ _years_ yet," Funky said. "Ask Corduroy. He's been hanging out with me all day."

"Oh, honey," the officer told Funky, gently touching his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Corduroy died a long time ago. But he wanted you to know that he was so glad to have had you as a friend for so many wonderful years."

Funky Kong shrugged, went to the infirmary to get his arthritis medication, and then shuffled to the front desk to be checked out of prison.

"Here's your old man sweater," the desk attendant said, handing Funky a gray cardigan. "And here's your rocking chair, your pocket watch, some Werther's originals you had in your pocket, and the hash you were convicted of smuggling."

"Thank you, young man," Funky told him. He collected his goods and went outside. Everything looked different because fifty years had passed since the last time he'd gone outside.

"Where's Donkey Kong Island?" he asked the female officer. She shrugged.

"Most things are done on the internet these days," she replied. "Even islands. You've been locked up a pretty long time."

"Yeah," Funky admitted. "Time really does fly. Well, thanks for everything."

"You're welcome sweetheart," the lady told him. "I hope you find the cure for that arthritis."

"Some things are just a part of life when you're 73 years old," Funky rasped.

It was time to go home. He had to play another level to get two more Kremcoins so he could take his plane across the sea, but he accidentally shot the wrong direction out of a barrel while he was playing the level and hit a zinger. Funky died of his injuries.

**THE END**


End file.
